The Gadfly Part 28

"So I understood from Riccardo. He was up with you all night, I believe."

The Gadfly bit his lip savagely.

"I am quite comfortable, thank you, and don't want anything."

"Very well; then I will sit in the other room; perhaps you would rather be alone. I will leave the door ajar, in case you call me."

"Please don't trouble about it; I really shan't want anything. I should be wasting your time for nothing."

"Nonsense, man!" Martini broke in roughly. "What's the use of trying to fool me that way? Do you think I have no eyes? Lie still and go to sleep, if you can."

He went into the adjoining room, and, leaving the door open, sat down with a book. Presently he heard the Gadfly move restlessly two or three times. He put down his book and listened. There was a short silence, then another restless movement; then the quick, heavy, panting breath of a man clenching his teeth to suppress a groan. He went back into the room.

"Can I do anything for you, Rivarez?"

There was no answer, and he crossed the room to the bed-side. The Gadfly, with a ghastly, livid face, looked at him for a moment, and silently shook his head.

"Shall I give you some more opium? Riccardo said you were to have it if the pain got very bad."

"No, thank you; I can bear it a bit longer. It may be worse later on."

Martini shrugged his shoulders and sat down beside the bed. For an interminable hour he watched in silence; then he rose and fetched the opium.

"Rivarez, I won't let this go on any longer; if you can stand it, I can't. You must have the stuff."

The Gadfly took it without speaking. Then he turned away and closed his eyes. Martini sat down again, and listened as the breathing became gradually deep and even.

The Gadfly was too much exhausted to wake easily when once asleep. Hour after hour he lay absolutely motionless. Martini approached him several times during the day and evening, and looked at the still figure; but, except the breathing, there was no sign of life. The face was so wan and colourless that at last a sudden fear seized upon him; what if he had given too much opium? The injured left arm lay on the coverlet, and he shook it gently to rouse the sleeper. As he did so, the unfastened sleeve fell back, showing a series of deep and fearful scars covering the arm from wrist to elbow.

"That arm must have been in a pleasant condition when those marks were fresh," said Riccardo's voice behind him.

"Ah, there you are at last! Look here, Riccardo; ought this man to sleep forever? I gave him a dose about ten hours ago, and he hasn't moved a muscle since."

Riccardo stooped down and listened for a moment.

"No; he is breathing quite properly; it's nothing but sheer exhaustion--what you might expect after such a night. There may be another paroxysm before morning. Someone will sit up, I hope?"

"Galli will; he has sent to say he will be here by ten."

"It's nearly that now. Ah, he's waking! Just see the maidservant gets that broth hot. Gently--gently, Rivarez! There, there, you needn't fight, man; I'm not a bishop!"

The Gadfly started up with a shrinking, scared look. "Is it my turn?" he said hurriedly in Spanish. "Keep the people amused a minute; I---- Ah! I didn't see you, Riccardo."

He looked round the room and drew one hand across his forehead as if bewildered. "Martini! Why, I thought you had gone away. I must have been asleep."

"You have been sleeping like the beauty in the fairy story for the last ten hours; and now you are to have some broth and go to sleep again."

"Ten hours! Martini, surely you haven't been here all that time?"

"Yes; I was beginning to wonder whether I hadn't given you an overdose of opium."

The Gadfly shot a sly glance at him.

"No such luck! Wouldn't you have nice quiet committee-meetings? What the devil do you want, Riccardo? Do for mercy's sake leave me in peace, can't you? I hate being mauled about by doctors."

"Well then, drink this and I'll leave you in peace. I shall come round in a day or two, though, and give you a thorough overhauling. I think you have pulled through the worst of this business now; you don't look quite so much like a death's head at a feast."

"Oh, I shall be all right soon, thanks. Who's that--Galli? I seem to have a collection of all the graces here to-night."

"I have come to stop the night with you."

"Nonsense! I don't want anyone. Go home, all the lot of you. Even if the thing should come on again, you can't help me; I won't keep taking opium. It's all very well once in a way."

"I'm afraid you're right," Riccardo said. "But that's not always an easy resolution to stick to."

The Gadfly looked up, smiling. "No fear! If I'd been going in for that sort of thing, I should have done it long ago."

"Anyway, you are not going to be left alone," Riccardo answered drily.

"Come into the other room a minute, Galli; I want to speak to you.

Good-night, Rivarez; I'll look in to-morrow."

Martini was following them out of the room when he heard his name softly called. The Gadfly was holding out a hand to him.

"Thank you!"

"Oh, stuff! Go to sleep."

When Riccardo had gone, Martini remained a few minutes in the outer room, talking with Galli. As he opened the front door of the house he heard a carriage stop at the garden gate and saw a woman's figure get out and come up the path. It was Zita, returning, evidently, from some evening entertainment. He lifted his hat and stood aside to let her pa.s.s, then went out into the dark lane leading from the house to the Poggio Imperiale. Presently the gate clicked and rapid footsteps came down the lane.

"Wait a minute!" she said.

When he turned back to meet her she stopped short, and then came slowly towards him, dragging one hand after her along the hedge. There was a single street-lamp at the corner, and he saw by its light that she was hanging her head down as though embarra.s.sed or ashamed.

"How is he?" she asked without looking up.

"Much better than he was this morning. He has been asleep most of the day and seems less exhausted. I think the attack is pa.s.sing over."

She still kept her eyes on the ground.

"Has it been very bad this time?"

"About as bad as it can well be, I should think."

"I thought so. When he won't let me come into the room, that always means it's bad."

"Does he often have attacks like this?"

"That depends---- It's so irregular. Last summer, in Switzerland, he was quite well; but the winter before, when we were in Vienna, it was awful.